Penny for your thoughts?

Home Coming

Her phone rings to a familiar melody and as she digs in her bag to retrieve it you try to place it to where you heard it…

‘Sit down, be humble, keep it classy and keep it real’

You cannot help but bob your head to the catchy beat of her ringtone.

She looks up at you and smiles self assuredly.

She has finally fished her phone with an exasperated sigh along with it but her eyes light up when she sees the caller id. She answers it with a wide smile, wider than the one she just gave you, topped up with a ‘heeeeey you’!

Something inside you cracks.

You want to be the one she smiles over the phone like that for!

You still have not placed the song to where you heard it or who sang it but yet you really want to impress her with your diverse and eclectic music taste.

You want to ask her to end the call so you can talk some more, get in all you can before the wife calls.

Its 8.40pm on a Friday.

You instinctively know that she will call in the next ten or so.

Before 9pm at least.

You wonder who has her giggling as she climbs down the high bar stool at Newscafe pointing towards the balcony, signalling that she wants to talk on her phone from there as a matter of fact.

She’s not asking for your permission, she’s informing you.

You are confused… isn’t that a guy move?

That’s your move!

You cannot help it but stare at her derriere as she walks off so elegantly, her red suede heels clicking away on the tiled floor. You have always been an ass guy and a boobs guy – all of which she has ample of.

Her ringtone has you racking your brain and you don’t even know why.

You know your Kenyan music after all. Not the Bobby Mapesa, Timmy Tdat and Kenrazy type of music, but your taste in music is different altogether. Your music guy over charged you to add Victoria’s Kimani’s Safari album to your stuck-in-traffic-after-work playlist. And now, her music is housed in your shinde’s car stereo, sitting pretty next to the reggae version of Elani’s Kookoo, Sauti Sol’s love again ft C4pedro, together with Fenamenal woman by Fena.

Aaaah yes!

Fena!

She doing her thing tho’

That’s the name of the song she has set as her ringtone

She not only has your attention, she now has you intrigued.

You watch her walk back in after sliding shut the glass balcony door.

She is heavier and taller than your wife who is obsessed with fad diets.

It was a spinach and kale juice cleanse combined with the keto diet this week. Last week was the cabbage diet, the week before that she was on Jane Mukami, even going an extra wifely mile to pack for you dark green smoothies, purple cabbage and two boiled eggs to have during lunch each week.

You have no qualms about the missus starving herself to look good on your arm, you just have reservations about her dragging you and your household through the corridors of starvation.

Your stomach growls as if on cue, reminiscent of the saltless, bland vegetables you had over lunch. You do love her and your two daughters, Molly and Monique there is no question about it.

You would catch a grenade for them for they are your world. You take out your phone and draft a quick ‘will be home late’ text and hit send.

As soon as she approaches the table you put your phone on the table face down on the drinks menu, then stand to pull her seat for her.

She smiles and whispers thank you as she touches your arm.

You cannot help but stare at her full lips shimmering in some nude color and imagine that they do taste equally as good as they look.

Her scent lingers between you two..

Its fruity but musky and not at all overpowering. It makes you think of the smell of wet jacaranda flowers that Mutinda your gardener sweeps off your cabro driveway on a rainy November morning. In a weird way, she has always smelt like coming home and it warms your heart.

You take stock of your feelings.. You are fatally attracted to her, have been for a while now. She with the wide smile, ample bosom and behind and a slight lisp. You are a sucker for a full bodied woman and it pleases you to watch her order a plate of honey glazed pork ribs and a serving of fries and coleslaw; extra mayo.

You order the same, and a bottle of scotch for the both of you.

She doesn’t mind.

‘Good food needs to be accompanied with a good drink after all’. She says.

Saturday….

You are woken up by the loud barking of a dog and it gets louder.. howling and scratching of claws at the door.

You open your eyes, and before they can adjust to the daylight seeping in the room, you hear squeals and the pitter patter of little feet coming up the stairs.

Your head is heavy. A thousand men marching in it playing instruments; mis-matched sounds. You certainly overdid things last night with the Glenfiddich. You need an ice cold fanta, eggs laden with chilli and some goat soup later to bring you back to zen.

You reach for the bedside alarm clock to look at the time.

12.30pm.

Shit!

The missus will be mad you overslept. No, scratch that.. She MUST be mad.

Monique and Molly burst into the room squealing even louder, Daisy the danish hound in tow barking excitedly. The smell of pancakes and maple syrup wafts in the room alongside them.

They all hop onto the bed and jump up and down fully waking you up.

‘Daddy! Daddy! Jim jam time’ they scream and you cannot help it but smile. Saturday mornings are spent lazing on the sofa, watching Jim Jam in bright pink jammies and eating buttered popcorn and apple juice.

‘Jim jam is over my lovely ladies’ its almost 1pm you announce.

They both frown and pout and Daisy barks at you. She is equally as disappointed.

‘I am sorry girls. But, if you let daddy take a shower and get ready, we will go to Big square for lunch and ice cream.’

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!’’ they now hop off the bed and start running around the room. Daisy has no idea what you just said, she is just here for the wild fun and excitement.

‘Take Daisy downstairs to mummy and tell her’ you add shooing them off.

**

The missus is being passive aggressive. She is openly sulking.

She does not receive the routine ‘morning baby kiss’ that you were about to plant on her lips when you get downstairs. She instead turns her head and your lips land on her jawbone instead.

Are you mad at me?’

‘Do I have reason to be mad?’

You sigh loudly.

She bangs shut the oven door and hangs the pans just above the stove.

They clang loudly, you try not to wince.

‘Have you kept some breakfast for me?’

‘What time is breakfast served in this house?’

She is definitely in a foul mood.

‘Baby, why are you answering my questions with questions?’

‘Am I now?’

The tension is interrupted by the kids coming down the stairs.

One is in tears. She cannot find her Winnie the pooh backpack. The other is feeding Daisy her pacifier.

‘Stop it Molly!’ Don’t do that! Your voice booms across the kitchen louder than you anticipated it to.

Shit!

You did not mean to sound that harsh or that loud. Molly bursts into tears and drops down to the floor.

The missus gives you a withering look.

The all too familiar ‘God-you are-such-an-idiot-can’t-you-just-do-one-thing-right look’ she picks up Molly from the floor whispering sweet and kind words to her baby. You stand and walk over to them, to hug them both, she ignores your presence and walks away with the child in her arms, grabs her purse from the kitchen counter and walks back up the stairs.

You are now standing there looking and feeling dejected like the complete idiot, Monique looking up at you. You go to her and pick her from the floor and throw her in the air. She has always loved this.. She laughs loudly and hugs you tight, your beard stubble rubbing her cheek. At least one person in this household still loves you. You place her on the sofa’s armrest and give her your back so she can piggy back so you can go look for her Winnie the pooh back pack in her mom’s car. You pick your house keys and the solo car key from the keys bowl and head out the house to the car to wait for Molly and her mother.

**

She ignores you but chats with the kids as usual as you approach the Big square entrance, Molly’s tiny hand holding onto her mother’s, Monique’s in yours. You both walk into the Big Square at the UN Avenue and thank God there is a free family booth towards the back.

You needed at least one thing to go right today.

After ensuring that they are well sitted, Molly well secured on the high seat, you walk to the counter to place your order and that of everyone else’s, fully knowing all orders by heart. A bacon, chicken and avocado salad and a minty pineade for the missus, 4 servings of non spicy bbq wings for you and the kids and a 2litre bottle of Fanta passion and six scoops of vanilla ice cream to be brought later.

You say that you will pay at the table, as is custom..not for everyone but for you since you frequent the place. The waitress behind the counter in deep green lipstick shrugs and keys in your order then takes the receipt towards the kitchen to submit your order. You turn to walk back to the table and as you walk by the entrance to go back to your booth, SHE walks in.

Your heart stops. Together with your feet right on their track.

Your eyes lock temporarily then she looks away and instead chuckles to something her companion has whispered in her ear. A little too hard you think.

She looks really good like she just woke up in the tight navy blue jegging pants that you love on her and a sky blue tee with ‘Beyhive!’ splashed in white at the front.

What’s that line by Mos Def in Ms Fat Booty?

Ass so phat that you can see it from the front?

Her hair looks messy — have they been?

You briefly look at him, in passing, a dark 6”2 man who looks like he stepped right off the cover of a GQ magazine. He’s in blue slacks and a dark blue denim shirt, first three buttons opened to reveal a chest that belongs to a man who eats, breathes and sleeps workout routines. Your left hand instinctively touches your nyama choma paunch as you pass them and walk towards your family. You feel like someone sucker punched you and kicked you in the groin at the same time.

You get back to your table and the wife studies your face.

You know its contorted and you don’t care.

‘Who is she?’ she asks a little too loud.

‘Who is who?’ you retort and look at her with a frown.

She decides to drop this conversation that is likely to lead nowhere when her phone buzzes on the table. Its her kid bro facetiming from Arkansas. The kids are super excited to see and talk to their favorite uncle Mesh who informs them that he is coming home for Christmas. You are distracted, stealing glances towards HER and muscle man. You look at them and wonder whether they made extra effort to twin their outfits.

She seems engrossed by him, he is now holding her waist from behind, as they walk over to the high seats near the counter.

It makes you sick to your gut. That should be you holding her!

Does she even care that you are there? What’s going through her mind as she laughs and throws her hair back like that? You take out your phone to text her. But what do you say?

‘I hate that…’ you start typing and look back up at them.

Your wife is still on facetime but she is looking at you and taking in what you are doing. You do not want to risk her picking on your vibe.

You know women and their sixth sense.

In about two seconds flat it can be world war 3 in here, Hiroshima and Nagasaki redefined.

So you resign to your fate thrust your phone back inside your jeans pocket, and make an attempt to make small talk with Meshack when the phone is thrust towards you. You ask casually how his business is doing, and his girlfriend, you laugh when he asks you what girlfriend, you are slightly envious of his fast life.

You look towards THEM and realize they are now walking out, he is holding the small of her back, that should be YOUR hand holding her. You watch them walk out towards the parking lot, peer at him opening the passenger door of his off white 2010 Porsche cayenne and ensure she is strapped in, then he kisses her on the lips.

You squirm in your seat.

The phone is suddenly grabbed from your hand, with a ‘how rude can you get Jaymo?!’ snapping you back to your reality. The missus is now furious, muttering to herself, ending the video call with a ‘Sawa Mesh, we’ll talk.’ You look at the kids who are oblivious to the impending drama, they are running amok in the restaurant aching to go out and play.